


The Dancer from the Dance

by Daegaer



Category: Alexander Trilogy - Mary Renault
Genre: Egyptians, Gen, Persian Empire, Persians, dance, written in 2004
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-13
Updated: 2010-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 18:41:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/115682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bagoas practices one of his arts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dancer from the Dance

Bagoas woke to darkness, his heart hammering and the sounds of his panicked cry still in his ears. He lay still, wondering if he had woken anyone, hoping that he would be left alone with his humiliation. The dream would not leave him, even now, and he gave up on sleep, rising silently from his bed and slipping out into the main room. After a moment his eyes picked out Neshi's huddled form against the door. Whether he was truly asleep or feigning Bagoas did not care, so long as he did not mention the disturbance. Satisfied, Bagoas crept into the final room of his apartments, and closed the door. Crossing to the window he opened the shutters and stared out at the dark sky. There was not a hint of light in the east; even the priests and wise men would be snoring with no need to think of the sacrifices for the sun. He had empty hours ahead of him, not that he would be welcome at the ceremonies at sunrise anyway. They were respectable events and the king would have only respectable people there. It did not matter that he was not the sort of person one would wish to see at a religious ceremony, he did not want to be there, was not sure if he still believed in God. It had been a very long time since he prayed. Prayer belonged to the time before, and he did not think of that time if he could help it.

Turning from the window he struck a spark and lit the kindling laid ready, then lit the lamps. He stretched until his limbs felt loose and warm, and then began to practice, spinning and jumping in the dance. This chamber had had the bed in it and had been filled with pretty things. He had peeled back the carpets and felt the spring in the wooden floor, and had had it stripped bare. Now there was nothing in it but the floor, the delicately painted walls and the lamps. It was perfect.

He stopped to catch his breath, pleased with his practice. It took long hours of work every day to keep at a level that the king found interesting. Perhaps he should get up this early more often, he thought, as often as he was not required elsewhere. He loved the dance, and loved being good at it. Honestly acquired skill and hard work honoured God, his father had always said. Horrified at the thought, Bagoas began a series of slow handstands that required all his concentration. Staring at the nearest lamp upside down, he saw in a flash his youngest sister bowing before the sacred fire. Grimly, Bagoas raised his left hand from the floor and balanced one armed until the only thing he could think of was the pain in his arm and side, the need to keep silent and still absolute. If he stayed completely silent and did not even let his breathing show how much it hurt then everything would be all right, no one would see him as he really was, all he had to do was keep quiet and not come out no matter how much the others screamed and he would be safe and the men would not know he was there, would not drag him out and -- His arm wobbled and he crashed down onto the floor.

Rubbing his shoulder, he began a series of more gentle exercises to keep it limber then stopped as the door opened behind him.

'I beg your pardon, sir, I did not know you were awake,' Neshi said quietly. 'May I bring you your breakfast?'

'I'll practice a while longer,' Bagoas said, turning to face him, 'then I'll wash and eat.'

Neshi's gaze slid away from him, down to the floor. Once Bagoas would have thought that it was disgust at what he was that caused such a turning away, but he had long since known that it was simply how all slaves looked at those with power over them. Neshi looked at him that way, as he had looked at too many men. There was nothing he could do about it, no assurances he could give. There was only the silence that separated and bound the king's possessions together. Neshi bowed and went out, closing the door behind him. Bagoas put him from his mind and flung himself into strenuous activity.

As the day slowly brightened, and respectable men slept in their beds, Bagoas danced on until mind and memory were silenced totally and the only thing left was the sound of bare feet on polished wood echoing back from the carefully painted and empty walls.


End file.
